


la belle dame sans merci

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d decided on an older face because of River. An ageless god who insists on the face of a twelve year old, she’d said. What an irony that he only seems to meet her now when she’s young enough to be mistaken for his daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	la belle dame sans merci

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heavenisalibrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenisalibrary/gifts).



> This one is Alyssa’s fault. Story title from the John Keats poem.

“So she’s your wife but she doesn’t know she’s your wife?” Clara wrinkles her brow and stares at him from across the console. “And you’re her husband but you don’t have her husband’s usual face? Is that it?”

 

“Essentially.”

 

The Doctor turns from her to fiddle uselessly with the TARDIS controls, a habit that he seems to carry from one regeneration to the next. “But she called you.” Clara frowns, inching around the console to scrutinize him. “How could she not know you?”

 

“She knows me, just not this face,” he explains. “There’s no way of controlling which me will get her message. What matters is that I get it and catch her when she throws herself from the top of her University’s bell tower _just to prove a point to her idiot classmates!_ ” He raises his voice at the end of his sentence, hoping his last words travel all the way down the corridor where River is changing out of her wet clothes. They haven’t spoken much yet, only long enough for him to chastise her as he helped her from the pool and for her respond with a coy _“Scottish now? You are_ such _a mummy’s boy”_ before slipping away to dry off. His hands are still shaking.

 

It’s been hundreds of years since he last saw his wife and just when he was finally beginning to let go, she performs a perfectly executed dive back into his life and his TARDIS. To make matters worse, she’s far too young to know of their marriage or even understand the longing in his eyes when he looks at her for what it is – a man starved but staring at a feast.

 

Clara smirks at him. “You’re awfully angry for someone who seems so practiced at catching her.”

 

“That’s because my younger self was far too besotted to ever properly scold her.” He turns from her to pace around the console room, not sure if he’s actually angry or just terrified. “She got away with everything. And I do mean _everything_.”

 

Wrinkling her nose, Clara puts a hand on her hip. “And you’re not too besotted now?”

 

“Of course not. I’m an old man, not a lovestruck boy.” He shakes a finger at her just to prove it. “The moment she finishes drying her bloody hair, I’m going to tell her exactly -”

 

“Sorry it took so long, sweetie. I couldn’t find a thing to wear.” River flounces into the room with her hair still damp but no longer dripping all over the floor, her face more youthful than he’s ever seen it, and dressed in nothing more than a very short silk nightie that clings to every single curve the woman possesses. There is so much of her skin on display he doesn’t know where to look first – the length of her shapely legs, bare all the way to the tops of her thighs; or maybe the gentle slope of her shoulders where pool water still glistens; no, definitely along the lace edging dipping just low enough to give a tantalizing glimpse of her full bosom…

 

“…but if you’ll just drop me off at my dorm, no one will see it anyway.”

 

Frozen in place with his mouth still open, the Doctor stares at her and says automatically, “Yes, dear.”

 

Smiling innocently – though he knows even this young she is far from innocent – she pads up to him on bare feet and reaches out a hand to stroke his weathered cheek. “Look at you,” she murmurs, looking at him with the same unbridled, dangerous passion she had his eleventh self. Appearance truly means nothing to River Song. “So _mature_.”

 

Abruptly snapping his mouth shut, the Doctor preens a little, smoothing a hand over his coat. “You like it?”

 

“Oh yes,” she chuckles softly, sending a thrill right down his spine. “Of course, the baby face is such fun but _this_ -”

 

Clara clears her throat pointedly. “Doctor, didn’t you want to tell River something?”

 

Suddenly remembering there is someone else in the room besides River, the Doctor whirls to look at his companion like a startled bird. “Sorry, what?”

 

“You said you wanted to tell River -”

 

“Who you are, yes,” he interrupts hurriedly, glaring. “River, this is Clara. She travels with me.”

 

“No Mum and Dad?” River holds out a hand to Clara and the two shake, Clara looking amused and River almost giddy. “Oh, the possibilities…”

 

Clara glances between them, puzzled. “Sorry, mum and dad?”

 

The thought of his Ponds still makes his throat close up but thankfully, River is only too happy to explain, “My parents traveled with him. Put quite a damper on things, if you get my drift.”

 

“There is nothing to put a damper on, River Song,” the Doctor scolds, and lands them in her dorm room. “Now go to bed.”

 

She pouts, fiddling with the hem of her scandalous nightgown. “Sure you won’t join me?”

 

Oh how he’d love to. In fact, there is nothing he would love more than to carry his wife off to bed and reacquaint himself with every inch of her. Her attire at the moment is doing nothing but remind him of just how familiar he used to be with everything he so desperately misses now.

 

No. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gives himself a little shake. She’s far too young. _Not yet._

 

“Yet?”

 

Realizing he’d spoken aloud, his eyes fly open to find River grinning widely, an unholy light of triumph in her eyes. “My, you do know how to give a girl sweet dreams, Doctor.” With a pleased little hum, she reaches up on her tiptoes to press a firm kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, sweetie.”

 

He watches in silence as she nearly sashays from the TARDIS, hips swaying and Christ, all that _skin_ …

 

Clara taps his shoulder. “What was that about your younger, besotted self?”

 

He scowls. “Oh, sod off.”

 

-

 

Luna University on registration day is a bloody nightmare. Freshmen have arrived on the moon in legions, signing up for classes and tagging along on guided walking tours of the buildings and the grounds. As the Doctor stalks through the bustling campus and keeps an eye out for River, Clara clings to the end of his coat to prevent losing him in the crowd.

 

“I still don’t understand what we’re doing here,” she says with a huff. “River doesn’t seem like the type to need a hand to hold signing up for calculus.”

 

“Calculus?” The Doctor scoffs, inordinately proud. “Child’s play.”

 

Clara yanks on his coat, pulling him to a stop. “Doctor, why are we here?”

 

Sighing, he pulls his psychic paper from his pocket and flips it open to show her the message written inside. “My younger self encouraged her to get involved on campus and now I’m paying the price. She insists I attend her walking tour.”

 

“River is giving a tour?” Clara lifts an eyebrow at the lipstick print on the paper but says nothing. “I have _got_ to see this.”

 

With Clara’s help, he finds River in the middle of her tour, surrounded by a group of incoming students and gesturing to the library behind her. He can’t see more than her hand pointing and the top of her head but she sounds as composed and smug as ever, rattling off historical facts in a voice that should be reserved for phone sex operators. He assumes that must be why every single student stares at her in rapt fascination, as if the significance of the statue in the middle of the library’s courtyard is the most important tidbit of information anyone has ever given them.

 

Instead of announcing himself like younger him might have done, making a show of knowing more about the university than the tour guide just to see River glare at him, the Doctor trails along behind the group she leads into the library, deciding he’ll wait to see how long it takes her to notice him. Clara walks at his side, craning her neck to look around, still fascinated by the idea of a university on the moon. God, he loves humans.

 

River leads them all to the circulation desk and the crowd parts just enough to allow him his first glimpse of her. His hearts lurch to a stop in his chest only to speed up again as he begins to rake dazed eyes over her form, beating so loudly in his ears he can scarcely hear the sound of her voice. Dressed in a white button up shirt tied off at the bottom and a black skirt so short that calling it a miniskirt might be a bit generous, River taps a stiletto clad foot and somehow still manages to look professional. The Doctor fails utterly at this, staring unabashedly as she introduces a group of elderly librarians to the students.

 

She glances out over the crowd and catches his eyes, face lighting up as she winks.

 

Snorting under her breath when he only blinks stupidly in response, Clara gives him a mighty shove forward. “Go on, then. The sooner you finish drooling over your not-wife, the sooner we can find an actual adventure.”

 

He swats her away, turning to frown at her. “I do not drool, Clara Oswald.”

 

“Tell that to your chin.” She laughs when he hastily reaches up to check.

 

Straightening his coat with a grumpy huff and reaching up a hand to make sure his hair is in place, he turns from his smug companion and begins to weave his way through the crowd. Standing off to the side while one of the librarians speaks about the proper way to handle the physical texts, River watches his approach with a smirk. “Hello, sweetie,” she murmurs once he’s close enough. “Enjoying the tour?”

 

Mouth twitching, he taps her on the nose and says, “I’m certainly enjoying the tour guide.” He scowls, glancing around as most of the males in the group and a few of the women ignore the librarian’s lecture on checking out books in favor of continuing to stare at River. “And apparently I’m not the only one.”

 

“Jealous?”

 

Momentarily forgetting himself, he strokes a thumb lightly over the sliver of skin visible between the knotted hem of her shirt and the waistband of her tiny skirt. This body normally has no desire to flirt, unlike his previous regenerations. He can if he needs to but it just doesn’t come naturally anymore. At least, he thought it didn’t. River never fails to make him feel like a fallible, bumbling human. Flirting with her still thrills him. “Would that make you happy, my bad girl?”

 

Her eyes sparkle and her lips curl into a grin. “Oh, immensely.”

 

Before he can summon what would undoubtedly be a very witty reply, something heavy thumps him on the back, sending him stumbling forward and into River, who steadies him with well-trained reflexes. Whirling and expecting to find a Sontaran, the last thing he expects to see is a tiny librarian scowling at him and wielding an ancient tome like a weapon. “How dare you handle a student so inappropriately!”

 

 “Oh, he’s handled me much more inappropriately than that,” River murmurs from behind him.

 

The librarian looks faint.

 

“Not helping, dear,” the Doctor hisses.

 

“Shame on you,” the old woman scolds. “You’re old enough to be her father. I should report you, professor!”

 

“I am not a professor.” He grits his teeth. “In fact, I don’t work here at all.”

 

The librarian blinks at him. “Oh, I apologize, Sir. I didn’t realize you were a part of the freshman group.” She beams at him like she hadn’t just whacked him with a copy of Shakespeare’s completed works. “It’s never too late for an older gentleman to get an education, you know.”

 

Somewhere in the crowd, he can hear Clara laughing.

 

River sighs, eyeing him mournfully. “I suppose the baby face does have its advantages.”

 

-

 

_Buy me a drink? xx_

 

He leaves Clara at home this time just in case, wary of further humiliating himself in front of her. When the TARDIS lands in an alley behind a pub just outside of Luna University, he knows that he is likely about to face yet another very young version of his wife and begins mentally preparing himself as he slips in the back and makes his way toward the bar.

 

River is easy to spot, surrounded by admirers and about half a dozen martini glasses. When she’s older, River usually sits alone at the bar, her reputation alone more than enough to scare away most men and women. And if they’ve never heard of her, the gun strapped to her side is quite the deterrent. As he approaches, it only takes a moment to understand the crowd around her now. Her dress is little more than a slinky piece of fabric that covers the tops of her thighs and breasts. It clings to her curves and rides up her thighs as she crosses her legs. As she throws her head back and laughs, sending curls tumbling over her shoulders, the Doctor stands frozen in place for a long moment, gaping at her.

 

She brightens the moment she spots him, waving away the men standing around her like sailors in a Marilyn Monroe film. “Sorry boys. Party’s over.” She licks her lips, eyeing him almost hungrily. “The warden is here.”

 

Tearing his eyes away from the sight of golden skinned thighs and shapely calves, the Doctor forces his legs to move. Young men scattering and River’s gaze riveted on him as he approaches soon brings a smirk to his face and he slides into the seat next to her at the bar. “Warden?”

 

“Well, you do carry a set of handcuffs with you everywhere.” She pauses, offering a slightly tipsy grin. “Oh wait, that’s me.”

 

He huffs out a quiet laugh and glances pointedly at the glasses in front of her. “I thought I was supposed to buy you a drink?”

 

“Oh, you are.” She smirks. “This is all on your tab.”

 

“Ah, very generous of me.” He sweeps a curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

 

River nuzzles her face into his palm, capturing his wrist and nipping at his pulse point with her teeth. “It’s one of your better qualities, sweetie.”

 

He leans in to kiss her, letting his hand slide up her thigh and steal beneath the hem of her distracting dress. River hums, tilting her head to accommodate him, and the moment their lips brush, there is a chorus of _ewww_ behind them.

 

He huffs, turning to glare over his shoulder at the young men watching them wide-eyed. “Can we help you, lads?”

 

“Sorry mate,” one of them ventures. “We thought you were her old man.”

 

He sighs. He’d decided on an older face because of River. _An ageless god who insists on the face of a twelve year old,_ she’d said. What an irony that he only seems to meet her now when she’s young enough to be mistaken for his daughter.

 

“He’s my husband,” she says, eyeing them smugly. “Well, he will be.”

 

The Doctor turns to gape at her. “ _Spoilers_.”

 

“Hardly.” She snorts. “As if you wouldn’t want to put a ring on it. Jealous idiot.”

 

Clearly still baffled, the group of sorority boys begins to trudge away, one of them muttering, “What a waste. Why couldn’t he go to the senior center and find someone his own age?”

 

Giggling at the Doctors outraged glare, River pushes his hand back under her dress and yanks him down for a kiss.

 

-

 

“Doctor? Any ideas?”

 

Glancing up from the unfamiliar controls as the ship rattles and shakes around them, debris falling from the ceiling, the Doctor takes in Clara’s panicked face and shouts, “Don’t rush me! I’ve only just started relearning the TARDIS controls!”

 

“Not that you knew what you were doing in the first place,” River shouts back from the other side of the ship. She’s currently in the middle of doing something that’s undoubtedly brilliant and will end up saving them all but he can’t bring himself to look in her direction. Saving the day while being incredibly clever and dashing was a lot easier before River decided to start dressing for adventures like she’s Lara bloody Croft.

 

“I knew exactly what I was doing!” He glares at the controls in front of him instead of glaring at her because he knows what little part of his mind he’s been able to keep from thinking about her in those tiny shorts and crop top will be utterly useless to him if he turns around. “In fact, I always know what I’m doing!”

 

He can feel her incredulous gaze from across the room. “Then why are we still being shot at, old man?”

 

Under the console, half of the crew cowers away from a large chunk of debris that falls from the ceiling but the Doctor doesn’t even flinch, spinning to look at her. She’s leaning over a mess of wires, hair falling into her eyes and sweat glistening on her tanned skin – most of which is on full display. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and swallows thickly. “Old, am I? Well, this old man was certainly good enough for you the other night -”

 

“Oh god, please stop right there.” Clara claps her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes shut. “Don’t say another word!”

 

River huffs and it does impressive things to her cleavage. “Look what you’ve done now! You broke Clara!”

 

“ _I_ broke Clara? You’re the one prancing about in your altogether!”

 

“My altogether? Since when are shorts and a shirt my altogether?” She snorts. “I think you’ve inherited the delicate sensibilities of an old man to go along with the face.”

 

“Oh shut up and help me raise the sodding shields!” He snaps, forcing his eyes away from her and silently waving goodbye to the five percent of his brain that wasn’t devoted to thinking about River in shorts.

 

Once they stop distracting each other, it’s the work of a minute to get the shields up. Safe from the blasts of the neighboring enemy, their ship instantly calms, no longer raining debris from the ceiling. The sudden quiet is so startling the crew hiding beneath the console dare not move right away, peering out cautiously.

 

“There,” River says with a smug grin. “Safe as houses. Not much fun if you ask me but -”

 

The Doctor saunters up to her with a proud smile, eyes twinkling. “River Song,” he says softly. “I could bloody kiss you.”

 

She leans against the console, the fabric of her crop top stretching enticingly across her breasts. “Well, what’s stopping you?”

 

He tugs her from the console and into his arms, relishing her startled yelp. “Not a damn thing.” Sliding a hand down her back and down to squeeze her bum, he smirks as River melts against him, face tilted expectantly. Bending his head and struggling with the desire to devour her right here, he only allows his lips to brush hers once, softly.

 

“Tease.”

 

He huffs a soft laugh. “Pot, kettle, dear.”

 

Finally convinced the coast is clear, the first mate crawls out from beneath the console, gaping at the entwined couple in the middle of the room. Hopping over debris to stand next to Clara, he nudges her. “Intimacy between fathers and daughters is customary where you are from?”

 

Still holding River, the Doctor drops his head to her shoulder with an exasperated, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

 

-

 

She’s trying to kill him. He was never sure before but he knows now that River Song is a conniving, sneaky, sexy wench who is most certainly trying to make him combust. She’d insisted he pick her up for a date and when he arrived, he found her here in the middle of a dorm party and surrounded by her drunken classmates, dressed once more like her sole purpose in life is to make his eyes pop out of his head.

 

The music is so loud it rattles the windows and the Doctor can feel his heartbeats in his throat but River doesn’t seem to mind, bouncing up to him wearing a thigh high boots and quite possibly the tiniest sundress in existence. He sets his jaw, preparing for his admittedly limited common sense to vanish the moment she reaches him. He doesn’t ever remember her dressing like this with the Ponds around. He’s quite sure Rory would have fainted. He’s quite sure _he_ would have too.

 

“Hello, sweetie.” She leans up to peck his cheek, taking his hand. “Dance with me?”

 

He’s still a bit busy staring at the ungodly amount of cleavage on display – honestly, it’s not like he hasn’t seen it before what is _wrong_ with this body? – so there isn’t much time to protest before she drags him into the middle of the room and starts swaying to the music. Her body in motion is always hypnotic, all lithe limbs and deadly grace. The Doctor stands motionless and continues staring dumbly at her, letting her dance all around him with wandering hands and little smiles, her fingers tugging at his coat.

 

“This you doesn’t startle so easily,” she observes, rubbing the curve of her arse briefly against his side. “All it takes with baby face is accidentally brushing my hand.”

 

“I would think you’d like a challenge, Song.” He finally summons enough brainpower to settle his hands on her hips but the moment he does, he realizes what a monstrous mistake he just made. River wraps her arms around his neck and begins to grind against him, circling her hips to apply pressure to his groin over and over until his vision blurs and his trousers are so tight he can’t breathe.

 

“Oh, I do,” she says with a saucy wink. “You’ve been such fun, honey.”

 

Wait. What?

 

Before he can follow that train of thought, River turns in his arms, wrapping them around her waist. Sliding that infuriatingly delectable arse against his rapidly swelling erection, she laughs that low, filthy laugh that makes him shudder no matter the regeneration. The room spins and he grips her to him, tugging her closer to hiss into her curls. With a moan, River grinds her hips once more, tossing her head back to bare her neck to his mouth.

 

“Oi, I think Song’s going to shag her granddad on the dance floor!”

 

The drunken slur, no doubt belonging to one of her frat boy admirers, snaps the Doctor from his River-induced stupor.

 

_You’ve been such fun, honey_.

 

With a growl, he shoves her away and wraps a hand around her wrist, yanking her with him into an empty bedroom amidst catcalls and offerings of the 51st century equivalent of Viagra. He slams the door shut and the noise outside fades just enough to allow him to hear himself think once more.

 

“Ooh, I love it when you’re forward.” Leaning against the door, flushed and smirking, River reaches for him. “Come here, Time Lord.”

 

He glares, stifling a shudder of arousal and still somehow unbearably hard despite – or perhaps because of – his mounting anger. “You’ve been doing it on purpose, haven’t you?”

 

She blinks, gazing up at him. “Sorry?”

 

If he didn’t know her better than himself, he might have missed the way the corners of her mouth twitch just a little before she stifles it. She’ll learn to control that when she’s older. Crowding into her personal space so closely that he can smell traces of her perfume, sweat, and the leather of her boots, the Doctor watches her eyes widen as he slips a hand beneath the hem of her dress and roughly strokes her thigh.

 

“I said,” he begins softly, “You’ve been dressing like a merciless tease and flaunting yourself in front of me on purpose.” He cups her through her knickers, long fingers pressed hard against damp fabric. River curls a hand around his forearm and inhales sharply. “Haven’t you, dear?”

 

She swallows, looking right into his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

He tuts disapprovingly, shoving aside her knickers and dipping his fingers into soft, slick folds. “What a liar you are, my River,” he says, watching her eyes flutter as his gaze burns into hers. “A filthy liar.” Her arousal fills the air as he strokes her with deft, practiced movements. Unlike River, who has been merely playing with him, he has had a lifetime of pleasurably tormenting her, and knows exactly what to do and where to touch to make her writhe.

 

“And you’re the only who can – _oh_ – use rule one?” She breathes, rocking her hips.

 

“Clever too.” He presses two fingers inside her in reward, drinking in her quiet moan and the way she spreads her legs just a little wider. “My clever, bad girl. You like this, don’t you?”

 

She manages a laugh that comes out more like a sob. “What gave it away?”

 

He thumbs at her clit for her cheek, smirking when her hips jerk and her eyes fly open. “I meant me,” he clarifies. “You like everyone thinking I’m a dirty old man.”

 

She rolls her hips in time to every elegant twist of his wrist, moaning. “You _are_ a dirty old man.”

 

“Yes, but now I look it, don’t I?” He pulls his fingers out to stroke through her wetness, brushing his lips over her forehead and drinking in the look of desperate need on her face before he sinks three back inside her, spreading her deliciously open. “And you love it.”

 

She shakes her head stubbornly, biting her lip.

 

“Admit it, River.” He nips at her ear, making her gasp. “Or I’ll never let you come.”

 

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip so hard he waits for the sight of blood.

 

“ _Say it_.” He presses deeper, making her eyes go wide. “You love it, don’t you?”

 

Nails digging into his coat and head tossed back against the door, River gasps out, “ _Yesss_.”

 

He smiles against her temple, turning his head to kiss her sweat damp hair. “Good girl.”

 

He presses the heel of his hand hard against her clit, just the way she likes, and he holds her against him, taking on her weight as her knees inevitably give out from under her. “ _Sweetie_ …”

 

“That’s my girl,” he breathes, watching her avidly. “Come for your old fella.”

 

He can’t help feeling a bit smug that those are the words to push her over the edge, gazing at her as she falls apart in his arms with the same sort of fascination an art connoisseur might give a newly discovered Van Gogh. She breathes raggedly into his chest as she slips from dizzying heights and he soothes her with fervent kisses along her brow and whispered words of devotion.

 

Finally, River pulls away to smooth her dress over her thighs, lifting her head to eye him curiously, her cheeks still beautifully flushed. “You really don’t care? That I’ve been, I don’t know, exploiting your appearance for the sake of a kink of mine?”

 

“You mean do I care that you find this face just as intriguing as the last one?” He brushes her curls from her eyes with a fond smile. “Yes, terribly upsetting.”

 

She catches his hand in hers, kissing his knuckles with a tenderness he didn’t think River capable of at her age. “Every face,” she admits, looking strangely shy.

 

Hearts leaping, he smiles softly down at her, stroking the side of her face. “I’m glad, dear…” He grimaces. “Just promise you won’t start calling me daddy. I’ll only ever think of Rory.”

 

River looks ill. “I think you might’ve just cured me, sweetie.”

 

“Ah, well.” He kisses her nose. “There’s always baby face.”

 

Her expression turns calculating, eyes gleaming. “If I took the age up a bit, do you think he would -”

 

“Spoilers, dear.” He winks, watching with quiet sympathy for his earlier incarnation as River’s slow smile grows predatory.

 

Ah, to be young again.


End file.
